


A Place to Rest and Forget

by logictron



Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 01:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13307289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logictron/pseuds/logictron
Summary: Post-ep for 1x09 (with one day to spare!). Jaz is rescued, but the steps back to "whole" are a little complicated.





	A Place to Rest and Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I'm not entirely pleased with this thing and I've been messing around with it for several days but I give up. With the hiatus ending tomorrow (hallelujah!), I just wanted to get this damn thing posted.
> 
> I focused a little more on the recovery portion and a little less on the details of Jaz's capture, mostly because I'm waiting on the canon version. But there are definite mentions of violence/torture/triggers/PTSD throughout, so there's your warning.
> 
> Also, I'm positive none of this is accurate re: army things. So, sorry about that.
> 
> Um, what else? Oh,a little nod to Amir and Hannah because I felt like it. And Patton.
> 
> Last note, my Elijah demanded to reappear here for a bit. My muse is super gay? So there's that.

Jaz wakes with a start, instantly aware of too many things. She's free, for one, and laying down. The room is still stark white around her, the lights too bright, the air too cold. But there are other things. Like the steady beep of the monitor, the soft whirring of her IV, the low hum of air moving through the vents. And voices.

"Hey." That voice, she recognizes. That voice is the one that's been playing in her head for days. Weeks. Months? But that tone, she's not used to, and instantly, she hates it. The look on his face isn't much better, though, to his credit, Dalton covers it pretty well.

"Germany?" It's the only question she can ask that doesn't require any sort of vulnerability. Just information. Facts.

"Landstuhl," Dalton supplies. Not that that's surprising information. The Army hospital. But Jaz takes it. Facts. Easy.

"How long?" Jaz asks after a beat, pain spasming through her ribs at the unexpected shudder the question causes. She watches Dalton flinch. It doesn't make her feel better.

"Jaz, we worked as fast as we could. We had to fly under the radar. No government support--"

"Stop." She shakes her head, takes a measured breath, levels him with a stare.

"Nineteen days."

She swallows back her rage and turns her head away from him. Dalton's fingers folding over hers is the only reason Jaz notices she's crying. And she hates him even more for that.

**

For a week solid, he barely leaves her side. They don't talk much (she lets the doctors do that part), but he's there. And Jaz fluctuates between hating him and being grateful. Unsurprisingly, he takes both of these things in stride, not drawing attention to either one. And he doesn't try to apologize again either. Which, Jaz chooses to believe,has more to do with her returning strength and the fact that she'll deck him square in the jaw than his own guilt--the guilt he visibly shoulders every time she wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming.

After the first week, the rest of the team comes by sporadically, and the only reason Jaz doesn't kick them out is because it actually seems like they're there just as much for Dalton as for her. And someone has to give Adam a break. He won't do that for himself. They all know that.

So she tolerates all of them. As long as they don't touch her, or ask her what happened, or look at her too pityingly, she can stomach them being there. Rationally, she gets that, in their position, she'd be here too. But 'rational' only wins out about half the time these days. The rest is reactionary, visceral. That part that only shows up when it's just her and Adam, when it's safe.

"I want to go home," Jaz says on day nineteen, because she's done. Because now she's been here as long as she was there, and to say that she fucking hates how long this is taking is the understatement of the century.

"Jaz..." Dalton sounds apologetic, and she thinks briefly about punching him, but her one arm's in a sling and the knuckles in her other hand are still swollen and bruised.

"They can't keep me here forever."

"No," he agrees, scrubbing his hands over his face. "But they won't send you back. They'll send you home."

It's suddenly clear that he's been hiding this from her, that he's been talking to the doctors, to Patricia, to the higher-ups. And Jaz does lunge for him then, because fuck her injuries. She's sick of being 'handled', of being stuck here and treated like an invalid.

But six weeks of fighting for her life have sapped most of her strength and, despite the ferocity behind her attack, Dalton subdues her easily, catching her gently, somehow, holding her against his chest until she feels the fight drain out of her as rapidly as it came. And then she's crying in his arms and it feels exactly like when Elijah died.

Just like then, Dalton says nothing. He holds her and lets her break down and put herself back together as best she can, just giving her a safe space to do it.

"They have to let me come back," she whispers finally, steely determination layering over the tear-induced rasp.

"You know I will do anything I can to make that happen," Adam says. And Jaz might not know much right now, but that much, she does.

**

They do end up sending her stateside, despite her and Adam fighting for them to let her go back to Incirlik. But she needs rehab, and psych services, and it's too much of a liability, having her there.

The only thing that makes it easier is that the whole team is coming home on R and R, so no one's in Turkey anyway. And Dalton tells her Patricia has temporarily put them all on suspension. He doesn't say "until we clear our psych evals", but she reads it anyway. And it's a little comforting, knowing she's not the only one suffering.

Dalton flies with her, and she fights the suggestion of meds until they're seated and she buckles the seatbelt across her lap. Something about the pressure, about the idea of being restrained, even though she's totally in control, flips a little switch in her brain, one that wasn't there before, and the panic rising in her throat makes her sick to her stomach.

"Hey." Adam's voice is there before she knows she needs it, and it's enough (barely) to bring her panic back to a reasonable level. He says nothing when she digs in her bag and takes her pills, but his hand covers hers on the armrest once she settles again, and it stays right there for the 9 hour flight.

**

 

For another month, Adam insists on crashing on her couch. He gives her her space, mostly spends his days reading or on his laptop, but he makes sure she eats. And he's still there when she wakes up in the middle of the night. She's been quietly continuing to take her meds since they got home, and the days are easier, but at night. Well, even sleeping with the lights on doesn't keep the memories at bay.

So they improvise. Nighttime becomes day and vice versa. It's not eternally sustainable, not in their line of work, but for now, it works. They eat dinner late and retire to the couch, always on opposite ends. They watch late night junk, rom coms and sitcoms and, when it gets late enough, infomercials. It's usually about that time that exhaustion starts to outweigh everything else. And Jaz usually finds herself curled up on her side, her head toward Dalton, close enough but not touching, and he always closes his computer and tugs the blanket over her (the one that smells like him now). He sleeps sitting up, and she always drifts off with his hand resting gently on her arm. They wake up to the midday sun and no nightmares. And then they go for a run.

**

The routine works until there’s snow. Jaz always loved the snow, but it’s cold and so, so white. It changes the light and makes everything feel claustrophobic and somehow lonely. The panic envelops her somewhat unexpectedly. She’s still learning how to head off the trauma. She’s wondering if she’ll ever really be able to, because right now, it feels like an insurmountable obstacle.

“You’re safe,” Adam murmurs, not moving any closer to her than he already is, a good ten feet away. “Breathe.”

She wants to scream at him that she can’t, that it’s not that fucking easy, but her lungs fill and the room steadies and Jaz rests her forehead against the windowpane, watching her breath fog the glass. Her chest aches, but she’s alive. For today, that’s enough.

**

 

After two months, Adam goes home. It's half because Jaz makes him and half because he has to be closer to headquarters in Chantilly and Jaz still has nearly daily appointments at the VA in Bethesda and DC traffic is so far from reasonable, it's maddening. So for two days, he goes home. But as soon as he's gone, Jaz's anxiety goes from manageable to decidedly not. She tries following their routine, but she can't bring herself to sleep. For one night, she survives, but night two, she gives in. It's 3am when she calls him, curled up on the couch, wrapped in his blanket.

"Can't sleep?" is the first thing he says and the tension in her chest eases instantly. "Me neither."

"And there's nothing good on TV," Jaz says, though her eyes are already closed, her lips tugging into a smile.

"Maybe this is why people have Netflix..."

"You mean there's more to life than infomercials?"

"So I hear," Dalton chuckles, the sound warm and familiar.

"I think you should come back tomorrow." It comes out needier than she wants it to. She makes a mental note to talk about it with her therapist. Eventually.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing. On one condition."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Jaz asks, her words a little slurred with sleep.

"We work on getting you to sleep in your bed."

For some reason, it makes her laugh. "And what about you, Top?"

"You let me worry about me."

"I would, but you do a shit job and we both know it." It makes Dalton chuckle and Jaz considers that a win. They fall into an easy silence and Jaz falls asleep with Dalton breathing in her ear.

**

Working on Jaz sleeping in her own bed basically means Dalton sleeps there too. It works much the same way as the couch, with them each occupying their own space, not touching. The first night, she doesn't sleep (and neither does he, which she only knows because she's hyper-aware of the fact that he hasn't moved since they laid down). The second night fares only slightly better, with Jaz managing a couple of cat naps.

It's the third night that, in her sleep-deprived delirium, she gives in with a huff, reaching for his hand and putting it on her arm. Jaz has absolutely no idea why it works, why that's what she needs, but it does the trick and she's asleep in minutes. She doesn't even panic when she wakes up in the middle of the night (no nightmares) to find Dalton just barely against her back, his hand less on her arm now and more on her hip. And that's when she starts to realize they're in trouble.

**

Slowly, the team gets cleared, which brings everyone back to DC. They meet for dinner at an Italian place in Alexandria by the water, and,while it takes Jaz dutifully downing her pills and Dalton letting her check his sidearm about fifty times before they get out of the car, the night goes off without too much of a hitch. Being back with everyone feels like home more than her bare bones apartment has, even with Adam there. It's the first time the thought of going back to Turkey doesn't cause some sort of mild panic. She knows she's a ways away from being cleared to go back to work, but the goal seems at least attainable now.

"I'd like to make a toast," Preach declares before dessert. "To chosen family, to fighting like hell for the ones you love, and to going home."

"Here, here," McGuire agrees heartily.

Jaz raises her glass (water) and her hand doesn't shake at all.

The walk back to the car is the only bump in the road when a drunken college frat boy stumbles into her unexpectedly. The impact is startling and Jaz has the guy up against the nearest car before anyone can blink. He's pinned by the throat and wide-eyed with terror and Dalton has to calmly talk her down. Jaz doesn't talk until they're back to the apartment a full hour later.

"I could've killed him," she says, and she's not sure whether she means that as a reassurance to herself or a thank you to Adam.

"I know," he says, apparently taking it for the former. Jaz doesn't know what to make of that.

**

Adam is cleared to go back with the rest of the team starting the first week of March. It's only three weeks away. Jaz hasn't asked about going back herself. She knows she's not cleared, and frankly, she's glad. But the idea of staying here alone, of not having Dalton a room away, is daunting beyond anything else she's faced since coming here. He seems to sense it too, and there's a tension there that there wasn't before. It's putting her on edge. Which is probably why she breaks.

They go for a run and a gym session (she can almost outrun him now, so they're almost back to normal) and she goes to take a shower. Which is all well and good until the power cuts out and she's alone in the dark.

 

There's darkness and this horrible noise echoing off the tiles and she covers her ears before realizing she's screaming. And then there's a voice and the water turns off and she's being wrapped in a towel and carried out into the bedroom, and Jaz knows exactly where she is, that she's home, that's she's safe, but that doesn't help right now. It doesn't help when she can still feel everything. The cold, the darkness, the loneliness, the uncertainty. The pain. Pain worse than anything else she's ever endured. Pain of being tied, hung from the ceiling by her wrists. Beaten. With fists,with ropes,with chains, with whatever was handy. Cut up, deliberately, just for the sake of bleeding. Every inch of her just fucking hurts.

"You didn't come," the words slip out between sobs and even in her slightly hysterical state, Jaz feels Dalton tense. "Why didn't you come? Nineteen days. Nineteen days. Do you have any idea...?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And Adam doesn't sound like himself. Not even close. He sounds hollow. Stricken. "I'd switch places with you in a heartbeat. I swear to God, Jaz, you have to know that. You have to." He's holding her like she's the most precious thing in the world and she can't reconcile that right now, not with how much rage and shame is humming under her skin, so she pushes him away, pounding at his chest, clawing at his arms, screaming at him to just fucking stop already, let her go. And then something happens and she's kissing him, pouring every last bit of what's left of her soul into him, because she's not worthy of holding onto it anymore. She kisses him and her head spins, because he's kissing her back, his mouth yielding to hers, taking everything she's letting go of.

Jaz pulls away eventually, when there's nothing left. She has no idea if it's been ten seconds or ten minutes or ten hours, but her lips are swollen and Dalton's breathing is ragged and she just feels...empty.

"It's not your fault," she says, her fingers grazing the stubble on his jaw,so much more softly than she's ever touched him before. Her hands don't know how to sustain it, so she stops after a second. "Adam." His name feels foreign. She's not sure she's ever used it. It gets his attention.

The look in his eyes isn't something she's ever seen, it's raw and painful and hopeful and...boyish, is the word that comes to mind. He looks twenty years younger and it catches her off guard. But it's gone as fast as it comes,and then he's just him again. Top.

"Let's go to bed," he says.

It's only 4pm, but who is she to argue.

**

They don't talk about it. The panic attack, Jaz lashing out at him, the kiss, any of it. Things just go back to how they were before, mostly. The weird tension between them is still there, maybe a little more pronounced now, but it's not unbearable. Because she's focused on getting back on her game, she schedules an extra appointment with her therapist. It seems like a good plan.

Three days later, Dalton goes home again. Jaz falls asleep in a bed that smells like him, and,for the first time since leaving Iran, she dreams of something else. Of home, true home, in Turkey. And Elijah is there, a ridiculous feather boa looped around his neck and knockoff bedazzled sunglasses perched on top of his head.

"Welcome home, Jazzy," he greets, scooping her into a hug, lifting her clear off the ground. "I knew you'd be back. Right where you belong. Just between you and me, someone's waiting for you." He nods toward the buildout where their living quarters are and she goes, somehow already knowing who she'll find.

Sure enough, Dalton is in her room, grinning his easy, boyish grin. She barely gets a word out before he's kissing her, backing her into the wall, and it's that of all the things that nudges something in the back of her brain, something that tells her this isn't real. Because she trusts Dalton more than just about anyone else but the thought of being backed into anything by anyone right now makes her skin crawl. Except in the dream, that's not how it feels. It feels warm and safe and it makes her breathless with a kind of ache she's forgotten about entirely. It's just as his fingers slip under her shirt, sparking heat under her skin, that Jaz wakes up panting.

And she's not even a little bit afraid.

**

"I'm going to see Elijah," she announces casually, the day Dalton comes back. She's pointedly avoided anything military aside from her appointments at Walter Reed. And now she's not sure why going to Arlington didn't occur to her sooner.

"You want company?"

"Want is a strong word," Jaz teases and it makes Adam roll his eyes. She doesn't miss the way his mouth quirks under his beard. "Be ready in ten?"

"Oh, I'm ready. Just waiting on you." He lifts his brow pointedly, eyes sparkling, and Jaz can't resist smacking his shoulder lightly on her way past.

They drive to Arlington and talk about him, which, Jaz realizes, they haven't done for a very, very long time. It feels easier to do it here, an ocean and a world away from where he died in her arms.

"Sometimes, I forget, you know? Especially being here. I keep thinking about going back, imagining he'll be there. But he won't." She watches the cemetery come into view, neat little rows of markers sprawling. It makes her uneasy. She fidgets until Dalton's hand slides over to cover hers.

"I think he'd be really damn proud of you, you know." He parks the car and turns to look at her. She studiously keeps her gaze trained out the window. "I know I am."

"Top..."

"I know you're not used to hearing it, Jaz. Trust me, I know. And I'm not trying to flatter you or whatever. I'm just saying...you should give yourself a little bit of credit. Because if Vallins was here, he'd probably be throwing you a damn party with streamers. And glitter."

He's not exactly wrong, so Jaz laughs. Things don't feel quite as daunting when she's thinking about feather boas and glitter. Not that it stops the tears from falling when they reach his marker. Dalton pretends not to notice and Jaz silently thanks whoever is listening for that.

**

She goes to the range as soon as her therapist clears her (it turns out making the appointment and spending an hour talking about her relationship with Dalton was a good idea). She goes alone, which is a feat in itself. And for over an hour, she just stands in her lane, holding her sig, staring down the target. The hour is what she needs to stop shaking, to not flinch every time a weapon discharges.

Feeling more steady, she levels the gun and pumps all ten rounds out in under a minute. Every last one of them lands in the ten ring. Jaz leaves feeling like she could conquer the world. It's something she hasn't felt in almost six months.

The drive home feels totally normal.

**  
Jaz goes to the range every single day for the next week, and by day four, it only takes a couple of minutes to steady herself enough to shoot. She's only missed two shots, both just barely, both due to startles, which isn't ideal, but the point is, she's getting there.

"I think I'm ready to requalify," she announces to Dalton over burgers that night (of all the things they can't get in Turkey, American food is what she missed the most).

"That's a big step," Dalton says, cautious, studying her. She hasn't told him about the range. It had felt like too much pressure.

"The worst I can do is fail," she says. She's never failed a single firearms test. They both know that.

"I'm more worried about what happens if you pass."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" It might be the cruelest thing he's ever said to her. She hates that, despite the rage building in her chest, she feels like crying.

"I just don't want you rushing into things," he amends, backpedaling. "When you come back, I want you back for good."

It's pretty clear that's not entirely what he meant.

"Fuck you," she growls. Leaving her plate on the table, along with the rest of her food, Jaz leaves him there and locks herself in the bedroom. She'd leave, but it's dark and she has nowhere to go. Somehow, that just makes everything worse.

**

To his credit, Dalton gives her an hour to cool off. When he knocks on the door, she's just laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, mentally listing all the things she needs to do to prepare to go back.

"You're gonna come in anyway," she calls, knowing he already has the key for her door. A safety measure.

"Look, I'm sorry." He opens the door, sighing and leaning against the frame. "I'm an ass. I just worry about you. I worry about me." Adam's jaw works and Jaz just watches him. "It's just gonna take a little while for me to stop...remembering."

They haven't talked about him. Jaz knows he's talking to a therapist too, but he doesn't talk to her about it.

"Okay." She nods, sitting up. "But you gotta get over it eventually."

"Easier said than done." He chuckles, looking at the floor between them. "But I'm working on it. Just like you. I promise."

"Come with me tomorrow?" She wants to show him, to prove to him she can do it.

"Alright. Sounds like fun."

"Okay." Jaz chucks a pillow at him. "It's a date."

**  
Shooting with Dalton is the most normal thing she's done in a lifetime. She's a better shot than he is, always has been (not that he's bad, but she's a sniper for a reason), and still is. Though she can tell he's messing around a little at the beginning.

"Knock it off," she chides, watching him put a couple holes in the 7 ring.

"What? I'm just getting warmed up!" He laughs and she rolls her eyes.

"I don't need you to go easy on me." Jaz systematically empties her clip into the target. They all land, a tiny cluster in the middle of the paper.

"Yeah, I see that," she hears him mutter, and she can't help but feel a little proud.

He doesn't mess around after that, but she still outshoots him and, by the time they're done, she's grinning ear to ear.

"So?" she prompts.

"So," Dalton echoes. "I think I should've put a gun in your hands a lot sooner." He squeezes her shoulder warmly. "You did good, Jazzy."

His approval has literally always mattered to her,which is a weird feeling because she's never in her life needed anyone else's. So hearing that feels pretty damn good.  
**

They have dinner again with the team one week before everyone's scheduled to leave. This time, it's at Patricia's house in McLean, and Patricia, Hannah, and Noah are there, too. Jaz is already more relaxed, knowing it's not somewhere public.

McGuire all but begs her to shoot pool with him and she obliges without too much cajoling. It takes her a minute to realize pretty much everyone is watching when she beats his ass. She'd be madder about it if they didn't all look so damn happy.

"I let you win, just so we're clear," McG announces as soon as she sinks the 8 ball.

"You didn't 'let' me do anything," Jaz scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I'll beat your ass anytime. Don't even try."

"Rematch!" he crows. "Right now. You're going down, Kahn."

"Guys, you can't just hog the pool table," Noah protests.

"Alright, okay. Fine. Fair is fair. Teams? Noah, you and me against Jaz and Hannah? Hannah, you game?" McGuire asks.

Jaz watches Hannah arch her brow and hand her wine to Amir, who has been practically glued to her side all night. Jaz's been too preoccupied to notice but now. Well, that's interesting. She makes a note to ask Dalton about it later.

"You think you got your ass handed to you before...just wait," Hannah says. "Jaz? You up for taking these boys down a few pegs?"

She doesn't know much about Hannah, but Jaz is already figuring out she kinda likes her.

It's a pretty even match and they're head to head until the very last shot. Hannah makes a show of stalking around the table, angling, calculating, and then sinking the eight ball into the corner pocket.

The boys groan as Hannah saunters over to Amir to reclaim her drink. And she kisses him and Jaz's eyes widen. Apparently, she doesn't have to ask Dalton anything later. They're making it pretty clear they're a thing. Or whatever.

But Jaz finds herself seeking out Dalton on the other side of the room, and he's already looking back at her. It makes her blush, and she's damn glad everyone else is too distracted to notice.

**

With days to spare before Dalton leaves,the tension between them is at an all time high. It's making Jaz jittery and she doesn't like it. He notices, of course, but says nothing, and that's maybe more maddening than anything else.

"Want to watch a movie?" he asks. There's pizza and beer and it feels grossly domestic, but she's grown to love it. And that's the problem.

"Sure, why not. But none of that sappy crap. I want action or comedy or something." She settles into her spot on the couch, legs folded under her, and reaches for the pizza box, snagging herself a slice and taking a generous bite.

"Such a lady," Dalton teases, picking up the remote to peruse their options.

"Damn right," Jaz says around her mouthful,wiping grease off her chin. "And you love it."

He pauses to look at her and she can't read his expression, but it almost makes her squirm. Thankfully, it's gone before she can think too much about it and he turns his attention back to finding them a movie.

When the pizza and the beer are gone, and the movie's half over, Dalton sighs and stretches his arm along the back of the couch,toward her.

"Would you just...come here?" he asks, exasperated, but she already knows it's not with her.

"Feeling a little needy there, Top?" she teases, though she's already moving, tucking herself into his side. It's the most they've touched (awake, anyway) since they'd kissed. And once his arm encircles her shoulders, she knows why.

"I'm gonna miss you," Adam says, ignoring her comment, which is just testament to how serious he is.

"It's not forever." Jaz cautiously lets her head fall to his shoulder, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"I know that. But it's not the same. It can't be the same."

Jaz knows he means this--the cuddling and the sharing of her bed and the easy domesticity that's unfolded between them. He's always taken care of her and he always will, but he's her CO, and with that comes a certain level of professionalism and plenty of red tape. And she knows that both of them would choose duty over personal every single time, so this is it.

The tension that's been steadily building between them makes sense now. She thinks about the kiss, about her dream, about how his voice was the one anchor she had in Iran, and she realizes with startling clarity that she's a little bit in love with him. And that the look she'd seen earlier was an almost guaranteed indicator that he feels the same.

She swallows, suddenly hyper aware of the weight of his arm across her shoulders, the steady warmth of him pressed to her side.

"Top, I..." The words die in her throat because she's not sure what to say. She knows six different languages and none of them suffice. Thank you? I'm sorry? I love you? Don't leave me?

Jaz lets out a frustrated little growl, and then she's kissing Adam again, only it's more like her dream this time, more about heat and wanting and pent up frustration than hurt and anger and brokenness.

For a few perfect seconds, he kisses her back, his mouth warm and tender, his beard tickling her skin, but then he's pulling away, his hand on her cheek, his eyes still closed.

"I need you to come back to me," he whispers, an apology.

"I know."

And she does.  
**

Two days short of a year, Jaz returns home. She flies back without telling anyone except Patricia. It feels like less pressure, less expectation. The team is on a mission, anyway, but they're due back later in the day, so it's perfect. The only one waiting for her is Patton, and she's never been so damn happy to see a dog.

Patton seems equally excited to see her, and he follows her around carrying his deflated soccer ball, whining and wagging his tail as she takes stock of everything. She takes the time to unpack and then makes dinner, knowing how starving everyone'll be.

She knows when they're back because Patton does. He finally spits out the ball and starts scream-crying at the door, circling. The biggest win, the thing that reassures her she's ready to be here, is that it doesn't make her jump.

Amir and McG are the first ones through the door, talking about some girl McG had failed to seduce in Yemen because she was too enamored with Preach. It takes them a full 10 seconds to process her standing there, and then there's yelling and laughing and commotion. She finds herself enveloped in a group hug, and the boys smell terrible but Jaz can't bring herself to care.

"Alright, alright," Dalton's voice breaks through the hug and everyone steps back. "You're all gross. Go clean yourselves up and stop acting like heathens."

"You're one to talk," Preach laughs.

"Let it be known, I'm only listening to Top because I'm starving," Amir announces. "And that smells delicious." He gestured to the stove where Jaz's dinner was still working.

The room empties save for Dalton (and Patton) and Jaz finds herself swallowing back tears.

"Welcome home, Jazzy," he whispers.

"It's good to be here." She smiles bravely, grateful he's not reaching for her, because she knows she won't be able to hold herself together if he does.

"Told you we'd get you here," he says. "Though I can't take credit for that. That was all you."

Jaz shakes her head. "Not all. Thank you...I can't..."

"You don't have to," Dalton murmurs.

She nods and wipes at her eyes, sniffling. "You'd better go wash up. Dinner's not gonna keep with those 'heathens' around."

He laughs softly, nodding. "Yeah, alright." He watches her a minute longer, smiling, and squeezes her shoulder on his way past.

It's the end of something. Closure. But it's the start of something, too.

Three hundred and sixty three days, as it turns out, is a lifetime.


End file.
